


This Is All I Have

by orkakid



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Car Accident, Drug Abuse, F/M, Hospitalization, M/M, heavy cursing/language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:49:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orkakid/pseuds/orkakid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Any way you looked at it, this whole mess was my fault. The blame was mine to take. I break down into tears every time I think of Niall tossing back another shot of straight vodka, of Niall happily sliding into the drivers seat, of Niall's blue eyes, so happy and full of life right before the car smashed into his door. <br/>    It was my fault.<br/>    It's always my fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is All I Have

**Author's Note:**

> welp this is my first post on AO3 and it's also one of my favorite things i've written so yeah

It was dark. The country road was barley visible with the low beams on, but that didn't bother us. We'd driven this road many times, almost too many to count.  
I was a little tipsy, and so was he. But just a little, we'd only had a couple drinks. Nothing major. My vision wasn't swimming and I could think pretty clearly still.  
The radio was cranked all the way up, blasting We Are Young as we sang along at the top of our lungs. We were a little drunk, we didn't care who heard us.  
I looked at him, he looked at me. Our eyes locked and in that moment, everything was perfect. I was happy, and he was, too. Happier than we'd been in a long time.  
Then I saw the car.  
And then the horn wail.  
And the crash.  
And the sound of metal crumpling under a ton of force.  
And then it was still.  
And then blackness.  
~  
An annoying beeping sound is what eventually brings me to my senses. I try to open my eyes but everything is white.  
 _Too bright_ , I want to groan, _Turn the lights off_.  
It feels like someone's sitting on my chest. It hurts to breathe. I try to bring my hand to my eyes but something tugs. I finally peek my eyes open.  
Needles. In my arm.  
My first reaction is to scream and attempt to rip them out. I hate needles. I've never liked needles. Just the word 'needle' makes me queasy. But a nurse with a clipboard stops me.  
"Am I in the hospital?" I say, my voice scratchy and hoarse. She nods gravely, and I frown.  
"What happened?" I ask again. My head is fuzzy and I can remember bits and pieces. Singing, flying down the road, and then... not much after that.  
"You were in a car accident." She says simply, finishing her scritch-scratching on that clipboard before walking out the door. I let out a puff of breath. Helpful staff, they have here.  
A car accident. Oh yeah, I remember now.  
The dark country road. We Are Young. Alcohol in our bloodstream. 75 miles an hour. And then horns. And glass smashing.  
I don't know who called 911. Maybe the driver of the other car. An SUV, I think. I remember getting a glimpse of it as I was wheeled into the ambulance. It must have smashed into the driver's side.  
The driver's side.  
Niall.  
Panic hits me in the gut like a sucker punch and I grab the button to my left, pressing repeatedly. Call the doctor, call the doctor, call the doctor. Press, press, press, press, press, until the door finally opens and a new nurse comes running in, her face flustered and worried.  
"What's the matter, sweet heart?" She asks, running over to my monitors.  
"Where's Niall?" I grab her am. Her face twists in confusion momentarily.  
"Oh, the boy in the car with you. He's, um, in the other room." She says slowly, carefully. Too carefully.  
"He's okay, though, right?" I press. Fear wells in my chest and I try to push the bad thoughts out of my head.  
"Um..." She hesitates, not looking me in the eyes.  
"Is he okay or not?" I yell, grasping her arm tighter. She flinches.  
"He's in... critical condition." She says quietly, gently pulling her arm away from me.  
"Well, I have to go see him them." I say, but as soon as I go to sit up, a stabbing pain rips through my chest and ribcage and I'm forced back down on the bed.  
"Oh, sweetie, I'm afraid you can't do that right now. You broke six ribs and you need to stay in bed for another 24 hours." The nurse says sweetly, her voice practically oozing with sympathy.  
"But I need to see him, dammit!" I shout in frustration, glaring at the needles in the crook of my elbow.  
"You'll just have to wait." She tuts, shaking her head and scribbling something on that stupid clipboard at the end of my bed. "I'll let you know if his condition changes."  
"Fine." I grumble, trying to cross my arms but ultimatly failing at the pain it brings. If I have to wait, I will. I'll wait as long as it takes.  
~  
24 hours pass and I'm aloud to walk around again, to use the toilet and shower mostly, but other than that I'm still cursed to bed rest.  
Rebellion is apparently my forte, because I constantly get out of bed, pacing the room, and I even snuck out once when the room was feeling too cramped, although I was caught as soon as I left.  
The nurse breaks her promise almost instantly, seeing as how she never comes back. A new nurse is sent in every time, and every time I beg to see Niall. And every time, they pointedly ignore me.  
I know it's my fault somehow. I constantly replay that night in my head.  
If I hadn't made eye contact with him right before the crash.  
If I hadn't convinced him to take that second shot.  
If I hadn't begged him to go out to the bar with me, even though we had already gone two nights ago.  
Any way you looked at it, this whole mess was my fault. The blame was mine to take. I break down into tears every time I think of Niall tossing back another shot of straight vodka, of Niall happily sliding into the drivers seat, of Niall's blue eyes, so happy and full of life right before the car smashed into his door.  
It was my fault.  
It's always my fault.  
~  
Minutes, hours, days. They all blur together.  
It seemed the entire staff had taken a blood-oath against telling me any information on Niall's state. If I hadn't watched his head smash into the glass, I might have thought they'd let him go already. Or that he'd never even had to go to the hospital.  
My ribs where turning out to be more of a pain then they had orginally thought they would be, fusing together at wrong angles. I'm sent into surgery twice.  
The pain medication makes my head a bit fuzzy, and I can't really think straight most of the time. My drugged up mind starts questioning weird things, like fingers and TV screens, until the whole world freaks me out and I let myself slip into a sleep-coma.  
All the news can cover is our accident; "Popstar Niall Horan and girlfriend Anna in horrific car accident."  
#PrayForNianna has been trending worldwide since the crash occurred. Nice to know they care. They probably know more than I do.  
I'm hardest on myself when I'm on meds.  
I should have been driving.  
I should be in critical condition.  
It should be me who's head cracked the windshield.  
It should be me.  
Why wasn't it me?  
~  
I'm almost better. It's been a week and my ribs are finally healing properly. They said I can probably go soon.  
They didn't say anything about Niall, however.  
Why won't they tell me?  
What are they hiding?  
~  
I'm finally discharged. My ribs are still swollen and it hurts to breathe, but other than that I'm fine. I've got a months worth of pain relievers, and a prescription for two more months after I run out of that first bottle.  
The first place I go is the front desk.  
"I'm looking for Niall Horan." I say to the receptionist, ignoring the fact that she's talking on her cellphone. She shoots me an annoyed look and holds up a finger. I let out a huff of air and wait for her to finish up her coversation before trying again.  
"Oh... room 239." She says, hardly giving me a second glance.  
"Thanks." I mutter before racing off.  
Bitch.  
I find the room with inhuman speed, taking two seconds to knock before bursting in.  
I don't know what I expected, but it certainly wasn't this.  
Niall's there, hardly. He's hooked up to more machines than I have fingers, and he's sort of a scary shade of pale. His eyes are closed, which either means he's in a coma or he's asleep.  
I pray he's just asleep.  
I find myself at his bedside without realizing I'd walked over there. My fingers carefully brush his soft, blonde hair off his forehead. His skin is warm under my fingers, hopefully a good sign.  
This is my fault.  
~  
He's in a coma.  
It's all my fault.  
~  
The days start to blur together and I can't seem to remember what day it is.  
He's still in a coma, but he's breathing on his own and his heart is pumping on it's own and I know he can make it out of this.  
I never leave his bedside, no matter how many times doctors try to make me leave. They can go suck a big one, for all I care. I'm not going anywhere.  
This shouldn't be happening.  
It should be me in the coma.  
Why didn't I insist on driving?  
This is all my fault.  
~  
Week one. Nothing has changed, which I guess is good and bad. The other boys have come in a few times, often trying to make me leave, saying they'll let me know if something changes, but I pointedly ignore them when they offer.  
Sometimes, the notion that he won't come out of the coma slips into my head, but I beat it out just as fast. Of course he'll come out of the coma. He's strong. He's a fighter. He's my Nialler. He can't just let himself die.  
Can he?  
~  
I guess I must have fallen asleep because there's someone shaking me awake.  
"Niall." I gasp out, but it's not him. He's still under. It's Liam.  
"Oh." I can't keep the disappointment out of my voice. "Hi."  
"You should stop beating yourself up about it." He says, taking a seat next to me.  
"How did you know-?" I ask, shooting him a confused look before he cuts me off.  
"Did you know you sleep talk?" He smirks a little at me and my face flushes an unattractive color, my focus shifting back to where my hand is intertwined with Niall's.  
"I've been told." I mutter. Liam laughs a little. Then we fall into silence, the beeping of Niall's heart moniter being the only noise.  
"It's not your fault, you know." Liam says after a moment. I look back at him, confused. Of course it was my fault. I've worked out so many reasons that there's no possible way it's not my fault.  
"The other driver was far more intoxicated than Niall was. He was the one that blew the red light. He even admitted to it." Liam explains, but that only makes me more confused.  
"Who would confess to a DUI?" I question. The consequences for a DUI aren't cheap or fun.  
"They ran a blood alcohol test and he was way up over the minimum. Nothing to say in his defense." Liam shrugs. I chew my lip for a moment.  
"I should have been driving." I say quietly after a second. Liam shakes his head hard.  
"You were more drunk than Niall was. No offense, but if you were driving, we might not even be having this conversation." Liam says gravely. That hadn't occurred to me before. I shudder thinking about it.  
"No offense taken." I murmur. I could have killed us both, had I been driving.  
I hadn't thought about that.  
~  
One week turns into two. Niall's condition stays the same. No one knows that do to.  
I've lost a lot of weight. I don't sleep much. I probably look like hell but I don't really care.  
I don't really care about much of anything anymore.  
~  
The boys come in for the second time today. I wasn't happy to see the time first time and I'm just as unhappy to see them the second time. They start out with the usual things, _Come get something to eat_ , _Go take a nap_ , _Go find a shower_ , but I ignore them, keeping my eyes trained on CSI: Miami.  
"Niall wouldn't like it if he knew you were being like this, you know."  
My head turns quickly. It was Zayn who spoke out, his arms crossed across his chest.  
"Being like what?" I question, instantly growing defensive.  
"Like _this_." He motions at me and Liam shoots him a warning look.  
"Like what?" I press, getting out of my chair. I'm not doing anything.  
"Anna, seriously, CSI? You don't even _like_  CSI."  
"So, what? It's on TV right now!" I say, my voice raising.  
"Guys, stop arguing..." Liam says.  
"You're spending all your time in this stupid funk!" Zayn shouts, "Maybe if you stopped thinking about yourself all the time you'd see that other people care, too! Did it slip your mind that we're his best friends? We're worried about him, too! It's not all about you!"  
I'm not sure what exactly brought stinging tears to my eyes, but Zayn's words are like a bitch slap across the face, and I don't want to be in the same room as any of them anymore.  
Keeping my eyes locked on the ground, I shove past the boys and run out the door, taking off down the hall. I don't know where I'm going, but I don't care.  
I don't care.  
I don't care.  
I don't care.  
~  
The tiles in the single-toliet women's bathroom are cold against my legs and arms. The ceiling tiles look a bit water stained. They might want to think about changing them soon.  
The tears have stopped but my breath is still coming in ragged hiccups.  
Zayn's right, though. All I've thought about these past two weeks is me.  
How it's _my_  fault.  
It should be _me_.  
What am _I_  going to do.  
 _Me_.  
 _Me_.  
 _Me_.  
I was too selfish to even see it. The worst part is that I know exactly how disappointed Niall would be with me for my behavior. It's a stab to the heart, and suddenly the tears are flowing again.  
I always fuck everything up.  
I'm sorry. I just don't know how to react.  
I love you.  
I really do.  
I'm sorry.  
And then I remember: I've still got those painkillers.  
~  
Getting back to Niall's room is possibly the most nerve-racking thing I've ever had to do, or, that's how it feels, at least. It seems everyone's staring at me accusingly. Everyone knows what I'm going to do.  
I reach the room and slowly turn the handle, peeking inside.  
Damn it. They're still here.  
I enter the room slowly, casually walking over to my purse. The boys eye me suspiciously, the tensions still high. All of them except Zayn, that is.  
"Are you okay?" Louis asks, watching as I grab my hobo bag and sling it around my shoulders.  
"Yeah, fine." I say, maybe a little too stiffly.  
"Are you _feeling_  okay?" Harry presses.  
"Yeah, just some, uh, you know," I purse my lips and pat my stomach, "Woman problems."  
They all turn an interesting shade of red and look away.  
"Right, of course, sorry." Harry mutters. I nod and run back to the door, slipping out and breaking into a sprint as soon as I'm in the hallway.  
That couldn't have been more awkward.  
~  
Finally back in the saftey of the bathroom, I rip through my bag until I find what I'm looking for.  
The painkillers. _Warning: use only as prescripted._  
Okay. Sure.  
I yank the cap off, dumping the pills in my hand and swallowing them two at a time.  
Two.  
Four.  
Six.  
I stop at six, and fall onto my back, waiting.  
My heart pounds in my chest and guilt courses through my veins and for a second, I think that it's not going to work. But then, it's like my brain just goes numb.  
I can't feel anything.  
And it's wonderful.  
~  
The effects wear off much too soon. The pain hits me even harder, plus my head is pounding and I feel nauseous. I'm tempted to keep taking the pills, but I check the time on my phone instead.  
And, shit, I've been high on the bathroom floor for three hours.  
I struggle to my feet, my head still throbbing and my stomach a wave of nausea, and I stagger over to the sink. I'm pleasantly surprised to find that the drugs didn't have much of an effect on my face. I turn on the faucet, splashing my face a few times with freezing water. My hair clings to my face and I remember how much that should bother me, but it just doesn't. The only way to dry off in this bathroom is an air dryer, so I press the button and sink down under it, letting the hot air blow over my face. It feels nice, comforting.  
I should get back. People will be wondering were I went. I haven't left Niall bedside for more than five minutes. The dryer shuts off and I let a breath slide out between my lips. I'd love to just stay in the bathroom for another three hours, but I know I can't. Maybe Niall woke up in the time I was gone.  
I grab my bag off the ground after shoving everything back in it, making sure to put the painkillers in the little pocket inside, before slipping out the bathroom door. The hallway is empty, thank God.  
I sprint back to the room and slip inside, shutting the door behind me. I'm about to let out a sigh of relief when a voice comes from behind me.  
"Where have you been?"  
I freeze up and turn around to find Liam, sitting in a chair near Niall's bed. Damn it. I don't want to lie to Liam.  
"Oh, you know..." I glance down at my thumbs, "Around."  
"You don't leave for anything. Are you sure you're okay?" He eyes my face carefully.  
"Yep. Fine as ever. I just, um... fell asleep... in the bathroom." I sound so fake. But he can't know. He can't know I got high on painkillers on the floor of the bathroom. Just hearing myself think it makes me want to cringe. It's a new low, even for me. Never in a thousand years would I have dreamt I'd be doing something like that.  
"I guess you haven't been sleeping well..." Liam mutters, crossing his arms.  
"Where'd the rest of the boys go?" I ask, trying to change the subject. Hell, I'll talk about the weather if it gets the topic off me.  
"They went out to get lunch." He says absentmindedly.  
"Why didn't you go with them?" I press.  
"I said I was gonna wait here for you. They're bringing me something, don't worry."  
Fucking Liam.  
"Why are you so worried about me? I'm fine." I say, taking a seat next to him. He shoots me a look that says 'are-you-kidding-me'.  
"Have you taken a look at yourself lately? You're most definitely not fine."  
"I am fine. I'm just... coping. This is how I cope." I say stubbornly.  
"Well it's a shit way of coping." Liam mutters, looking away from me. Hearing Liam swear strikes a nerve in my heart. Liam doesn't swear unless he's seriously frustrated or agitated.  
"I'm sorry. But you don't have to worry about me. I'm... feeling better." All I can do anymore is lie and hope he believes me. I'm not better. I'm worse. But it's not like I'm gonna tell someone.  
They've heard enough about me already.  
~  
Niall has a seizure three hours later.  
I take nine more pills and pass out on the bathroom floor.  
~  
I wake up in the fetal position on the floor of the bathroom with someone pounding on the door, yelling that I've been in here for twelve hours and if I don't open up soon, they're gonna bust down the door. I sit up, wiping what appears to be spit from my chin.  
"Sorry, it'll only be a second more." I call out, my voice sounding rough and scratchy. They grumble something and then it grows silent.  
I hope that means they've left.  
All around me are the contents of my purse and the bathroom mirror is shattered. I frown, and suddenly, the pain in my hand sets in. I look down to see my hand is coated in blood.  
Well, fuck.  
I push myself up against the wall, tucking my head between my knees.  
The doctors told me that they weren't sure if Niall was going to pull out of his coma. They re-scanned his brain, but they still don't know exactly why he had a seizure. His brain looks fine. Enough.  
Tears start rolling down my cheeks again. I want to take more painkillers, but I remember that I've been in here for twelve hours already and people are suspicious enough as it is.  
First things first. It takes me three tries to successfully get on my feet, and three more tries to turn on the sink. I wash the blood from my knuckles and face and pray that no one notices the cuts. Then I grab everything I threw around and tuck them back into my bag. Not much I can go about the shattered mirror, though.  
I slip out the door, breathing out a sigh of relief when I see no one's there. I sprint back to Niall's room, and hesistate for a second outside the room.  
What if he's not there anymore?  
What if he died while I was gone?  
What if the boys are there, wondering where I've been?  
I swallow hard and take a deep breath, twisting the handle and pushing the door open.  
Niall's still there.  
And so are the boys.  
Fuck.  
All eyes instantly fly to me. I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.  
"Hey." My voice comes out weak and fizzles off at the end. Fucking great.  
"Where in the _world_  have you been?" All the boys ask at once. I press my back into the door, contemplating making a run for it.  
"I went to get something to eat... I was hungry." I toss out the first thing that pops into my head and instantly know it was the wrong thing to say.  
"For twelve hours? I don't think so. Where have you been?" Liam stands up, crossing his arms.  
"Um... I visited my mom?" I try again.  
"She's in Mexico with your Dad. Any other excuses you want to try?" Louis asks, his eyes boring into me.  
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.  
"Um..." Has that scuff always been on the tip of my shoe?  
"Are you okay? You said you were getting better but I'm starting to doubt you." Liam asks, his voice suddenly a thousand times gentler, and tears prick in my eyes.  
"Seriously, disappearing for hours at a time isn't like you." Harry says.  
I swallow the lump that's suddenly formed in my throat. I can't tell them I've just developed a drug addiction. I can't tell them I just punched a mirror. I can't tell them I've been passing out like a hobo in the middle of the bathroom.  
They wouldn't understand.  
Hell, _I_  don't even understand.  
"I've just been out, okay?" I say stiffly, sliding down into the chair across from them.  
"Hey, what's up with your hand?" Zayn suddenly asks.  
No. Damn it, no. You're not supposed to notice that, Zayn.  
"I...I tripped. Scraped up my hand. No big deal." I can't bring myself to look at them.  
"How do you scrape the back of your hand? What were you doing?" Zayn presses.  
Stop. Asking. Questions.  
"I... I was..." I rack my brain for an excuse but come up short. How the hell _do_  you scrape the back of your hand?  
"Come here." Liam says, sensing suddenly that I really don't want to talk. He opens up his arms and I launch myself at him without a second thought, and as soon his arms tighten around me, I break down into tears.  
I'm slowly becoming a wreck.  
And as far as I can tell, there's nothing I can do about it.  
~  
I haven't been alone with Niall in a while. There's always been a doctor lingering about or one of the boys, especially since his seizure. Everyone's scared that he's going to have another one, and for some reason they don't trust me enough to call the fucking doctor.  
Do they think I _want_  him to die?  
Fucking idiots.  
But I'm alone with him now, finally. I'm holding his hand tightly, the chair pulled up right next to the bed and my head resting near his arm.  
"I'm sorry I'm falling into pieces." I murmur, playing with his fingers. He's so pale, it's scary.  
"I didn't mean to start on painkillers, it just happened," I chew my lip for a second, "I just need an escape from the pain, and I don't know how else to do it." The heart monitor beeps softly.  
"Please don't die on me, Ni. If this is me with you in a coma, imagine what I would do if you died. Just... imagine."  
I imagine it, too, but not for long. The image scares me and I quickly shove it out of my brain.  
"If you can hear me, please try to keep fighting. I need you to stay. It should have been me driving. I'm sorry it's you in the coma. It should be me. I wish it was me." I'm rambling now, and tears are falling again. "There's so many mistakes I've made. I'm sorry I'm such a screw-up. I'm sorry I can't stop fucking things up."  
I nuzzle my head up into his arm, tears falling freely now and my breath starting to come in gasps.  
"I'm so sorry."  
~  
Two weeks becomes three, and then four.  
I've gotten to taking painkillers twice a day. Five pills, twice a day. It's enough to knock me out for four hours. Eight hours of peace a day.  
I know it's bad for me. I've become more irritable, and I'll lash out at people for doing little things, like changing the volume on the TV or walking in without knocking. I've lost weight, too. Not that much, but enough.  
The boys are worried about me. More than once they've asked if I'm okay, if I want to talk, if I've been eating and sleeping and bathing.  
Yes, no, yes, yes, yes.  
Almost every day.  
It all comes automatically now. I do it all without thinking.  
I've become a shell of my former self.  
And I don't even care.  
~  
"Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."  
I don't know why I'm doing this.  
He's not going to squeeze my hand.  
He hasn't yet and he's not going to now.  
But I can't stop hoping, staring expectantly at his face.  
Nothing.  
"Nialler, I know you're there."  
Nothing.  
"Please. All I ask is just a little squeeze."  
Nothing.  
"Just a twitch."  
Nothing.  
"Fucking, damn it, Niall! I know you are there!"  
Nothing.  
I don't know why I do this to myself.  
I roughly push out of my chair, tears streaming down my cheeks. I grab my purse and run out the door, my feet automatically finding that all too familiar bathroom and slamming and locking the door behind me.  
I fumble with the bottle, screaming in frustration when the cap refuses to come off, and finally collapsing in sobs.  
Fucking bottle.  
Why won't you give me relief?  
I don't want to feel the pain anymore.  
~  
I wake up some number of hours later. I'm not exactly sure how many pills I ended up swallowing, but my head hurts like Hell-fire and I'm pretty sure I'm going to throw up.  
I can't even get up off the ground in time, and everything I'd eaten, drank, or swallowed in the past twenty-four hours comes tumbling back up all over the tiles. It's then that it hits me what a wreck I've become.  
~  
I wish I could get in bed with him. But there's too many wires and tubes connected to him and I don't want to mess anything up.  
"I'm scared, Ni." I murmur, clinging to his hand like an infant.  
"I'm scared the boys are going to figure out what I'm doing. I'm scared I'm going to OD. I'm scared you're not going to wake up."  
Nothing. Still. A breath escapes my lips and I hesitate.  
"If you... If you can hear me... squeeze my hand... okay?" I say, sitting up and studying his face.  
Please. Please. Please. Squeeze my hand, Ni. I know you're there. I know you can do it. You're stronger than I am. You can pull out of this coma. Please. _Please_.  
Nothing. My head sinks back down onto the mattress, tears squeezing out past my closed eyelids.  
Damn it. What are we going to do?  
Then, suddenly, I shoot back up. Did I just feel...?  
I don't think I've ever called the doctor faster.  
~  
Any day now.  
Any day now he'll open his eyes and I'll be able to see his gorgeous blue irises again. Any day now I'll be able to hear his laugh again, to hold him again, to wake up and feel his warmth next to me again. There's absolutely nothing more I want than that.  
It's been three days since Niall squeezed my hand and he hasn't done anything since, but it was enough to ignite hope in my heart.  
But every second is torture. I'm afraid to leave the room for fear he may wake up while I'm gone, but my addiction is too strong.  
Once, I tried to stay in his room for the whole day, drug-free, but the withdrawal symptoms got too strong and I gave in.  
I hate what I've turned into.  
A piece of me is afraid for Niall to wake up.  
I don't want him to see what I've become.  
~  
I wake up in the bathroom again.  
I don't even remember how I got here.  
There's vomit on the floor and it's probably mine.  
I feel awful, my head hurts like a bitch and my stomach is still churning.  
I curl up in the fetal position, feeling tears start to roll down my cheeks.  
How did I ever get myself into this mess?  
~  
I go home to Niall and I's shared flat for the first time in weeks, after the boys convinced me to go take a shower in my own house and change into something different with the promise that they'd call if anything happened. I'd realized that I've been wearing the same clothes for almost a month now.  
How do people stand to be around me?  
The flat feels cold and empty when I step in, and I instantly want to turn around and leave, but I force myself inside, closing and locking the door behind me.  
The first thing I notice is that the whole place is completely clean, even though I'm pretty sure we left this place a wreck (neither me or Niall like to clean so usually, we just don't). Which means someone came in a cleaned up for me.  
That fact alone makes the flat even less welcoming and it takes all of my willpower to go to our bedroom.  
Clean, just like the rest of the house. I suddenly get the urge to start throwing things around. The clean is almost too much, but instead of giving into the urge, I race into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind me.  
I don't let my eyes wander around the bathroom as I quickly strip out of my clothes and jump into the shower, turning the faucet all the way to the left. The water burns my skin, and I jump back, adjusting the faucet so I can stand the water.  
And I realize that's the first time I've ever really cared about something.  
And suddenly I can't tell whats water and what are my tears.  
I crumple down to the ground, and even though the shower is too small to really curl up in, I do anyways.  
I wonder if you can drown from falling asleep in the shower?  
~  
The icy water pounding my skin is what brings me to, and I realize I never got out of the shower.  
My skin is completely pruned, and I'm shivering like no ones business. The water feels like snow battering my skin.  
I switch the faucet off quickly and crawl out of the shower.  
The girl who looks back at me in the mirror scares me half to death.  
That can't be me.  
But, holy shit, that's me.  
My eyes are dull and flat, my hair's lost it's shine, I've lost probably an unhealthy amount of weight, and I'm as pale as a ghost.  
What have I done to myself?  
~  
After popping six more pills, passing out in Niall's bathrobe on his side of the bed, and finally cleaning myself up six hours later, I head back to the hospital. The boys never called, so I guess nothing's changed, but you never know. They could have just forgotten or something.  
But no, I walk in the room to find almost the exact same scene from when I left, the only difference being that some of the boys switched chairs. All eyes are instantly drawn to me as I enter.  
"Well, you look... better." Louis finally says.  
"Thanks." I say stiffly, sinking down into an empty chair, but I know he's lying. I look like hell. Going home didn't help one bit.  
"Did you get any rest?" Liam asks.  
"Some." I shrug. It's not completely a lie, I slept in the shower for a solid twelve hours.  
The water bill's gonna be sky high.  
"Well, you haven't missed anything. We got into a pretty intense game of two truths and a lie, but that's about all." Louis says, waggling his eyebrows at Harry, who smirks back at him.  
Ew.  
"Well, to be blatantly honest, I'm glad I missed it." I say with a small smile.  
"Yeah, you probably wouldn't have wanted to be here." Zayn says. I only barely manage to suppress the surprised look that passes my face before a choked laugh pushed out my lips. Zayn hasn't said a word to me since he blew up about my selfishness. I'm glad he's talking to me again.  
Apparently my awkward laugh is enough to make the rest of the boys laugh, and soon, I'm feeling a bit hysteric. It hits me that this is the first time I've laughed in a long while.  
And suddenly, I want to tell them about my addiction.  
 _No_ , no I do not. I frown to myself a little bit, my laughter dying away. I don't want to tell them about my addiction because they'd most definitely send me to therapy. And I'm sure as hell not going to therapy.  
"You okay?" Harry asks, and suddenly I realize everyone's looking at me again.  
Whoops.  
"Yeah, I'm fine, sorry. I was just... thinking." I let my sentence trail off. Let them believe what they want.  
Liam reaches over and rubs my hand.  
"It's hard for everyone, we know how you feel." He says, and I guess it's supposed to be nice and encouraging but it just makes my stomach hurt even more because they _don't_  know. But I just pull my knees up to my chest and bury my face in my knees and let them pretend that they know how I feel.  
It's easier than explaining.  
But suddenly, someone's talking.  
And shit, I think my heart stops.  
"Hey, what are you guys doin'?"  
~  
Is this what cardiac arrest feels like? Because Jesus fucking Christ, I'm pretty sure I'm about to have a heart attack.  
Niall's awake. Fucking Christ, Niall's awake.  
I'm not sure exactly what happens next, but somehow I'd managed to throw myself on him, sobbing into his shoulder and holding him tighter than I probably should be, and someone's calling the doctor because I can hear the repeated buzzing and everyone's yelling and the tears won't stop falling because, _fuck_ , Niall's awake and everything is going to be okay again.  
But then the doctor comes in and he's forcing us to go into the hall and for once, I listen to him because Niall's awake and everything is going to be okay again.  
And fuck, I can't stop smiling and it feels like my cheeks are about to shatter and soon as we get out in the hall, we all start yelling and hugging each other and I'm crying again because Niall's awake and everything is going to be okay again.  
Niall is awake.  
And everything is going to be okay again.  
~  
"So what was being in a coma like?"  
Finally, I'm able to curl up next to him in his arms, since the doctors removed about half of the machines he was hooked up to before, and that's exactly what I'm doing right now, with my head resting against his chest.  
I've been waiting too long for this.  
He chuckles, thinking back on it.  
"Weird, I guess," Niall says thoughtfully, "It was like a giant dream, and I kept hearing your voice, but I couldn't find you. Kinda like being underwater."  
I stiffen a little bit.  
"So, you could hear everything I told you?"  
"Most of it, I remember you telling me to squeeze your hand if you could hear me, and I could, but..." He hesitates, trying to put what happened into words, "It was like I couldn't find my body, or somethin' like that. Does that make any sense?"  
No.  
"Sure." I say with a forced smile, "But did you hear anything else?"  
"I heard you apologizing a lot, which you don't need to," He looks at me sternly and I half-smile, "But that's about it. Why?"  
"N-no reason. Just wondering."  
He didn't hear me confessing to using painkillers.  
Thank /God/.  
Speaking of which, the urges are starting to tug again.  
But I'm so comfortable right now and I haven't been able to talk to him for almost a month...  
But the urges can't wait and soon I'm holding back tremors.  
"Hey, I'm gonna go to the bathroom really quick, I'll be back soon." I say, feeling his grip on my waist loosen a bit and I slide off the bed, grabbing my purse.  
"I'll be waiting." He smiles at me and I almost want to just let the withdrawal symptoms take over because his smile is so innocent and oblivious. He has no idea I'm going to get high in the women's bathroom, but I remember the last time I started to go through withdrawal and it was so awful that it pushes all doubt out of my mind and I have to stop myself from sprinting down the hall.  
Oh, well, what he doesn't know can't hurt him.  
~  
As soon as the wonderful numbness passes, I weakly grab my phone and check the time.  
Three hours and I didn't black out once. Not bad.  
Although, three hours is a long-ass bathroom break.  
Oops.  
I struggle to my feet, washing my hands and face quickly before drying them with the newly added paper towels before staggering back down the hall.  
Once outside Niall's door, I shake my head hard, hoping to clear the post-high headache that I always get, and enter with a smile.  
"Where were you?" Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth. I flinch.  
"In the bathroom, I told you..."  
"For three hours? Yeah, right. Tell me, really, where were you?" He looks pissed. Damn it.  
"I... I was..." I fumble for an excuse but come up empty. There's gotta be something I could have been doing for three hours.  
"Is there someone else?"  
What? Someone else? Does he think I'm _cheating_?  
"No! Of course not! Fuck, no! Niall, I love you and only you!" I say incredulously. Why would cheating even be an option?  
"Okay, then where were you?"  
I swallow hard, the inside of my mouth going dry as cotton. Fuck, fuck, fuck.  
"And don't you think about lying. I know how you lie."  
Shit. He does. Shit, shit, shit. My mind strings together curse words in an unstoppable stream.  
"Um... I was... I was..."  
He looks at me expectantly.  
"I... can't... tell you... right now..." I finally sigh, feeling tears prick in the corners of my eyes. Damn it.  
"Why not?"  
A tear rolls down my cheek and my hand flies up to catch it. Stop crying, you bitch.  
"Because. I don't want to burden you with my issues right now. Especially since you just woke up from your coma a few hours ago." I say quietly.  
"Anna..." He sighs, and I just stand there awkwardly. What am I supposed to say? "Come over here."  
I don't hesitate to practically throw myself into his arms, where I curl up and basically break down on his hospital gown.  
"I'm sorry I'm just a fucked up mess." I murmur.  
"What do you mean? No, you're not." He says, and I can hear the confusion in his voice.  
"You don't even know the half of it."  
"Inform me, then. I don't like being left in the dark."  
I chew my lip for a second, contemplating what he might do if I told him.  
"Okay... but listen to the whole story. Please don't interrupt until I'm finished." I say finally.  
"Fair enough."  
I hesitate for a second, but then I tell him.  
And it all comes tumbling out of my mouth faster than I realized it would.  
And then I finish.  
And an awful, uncomfortable silence follows. Just like I knew it would.  
"You're... doing drugs?" He says after a moment. I just chew my tongue and don't say anything. If I open my mouth I'll burst into tears again.  
"You should have told me sooner. Do the rest of the boys know?"  
I shake my head slightly.  
"You're the only one." I say quietly, afraid to use my voice.  
"Where are the drugs you're using?"  
"In my purse." I glance over to where it's laying in a heap on the floor.  
"Can you bring them to me?"  
"...Why?"  
"I just want to see them."  
I get up slowly, grabbing the orange bottle from the little pocket in my purse and I hand it back to Niall. He studies it for a second before glancing back up at me.  
"Thank you." He gives me an unfitting smile and I narrow my eyes at him.  
"Can I have them back now?"  
"No."  
No?  
"B-but I need them." I run back over to his bedside and start reaching for them.  
"No, you don't. You're going to break this habit and if you need me to do it for you, then so be it." He pushes me back slightly, and even though it wasn't more than a nudge, I stumble back like he'd shoved me.  
I guess I should be grateful.  
But I'm not.  
~  
Withdrawal symptoms kick in that night, after the time I'd usually take them.  
Everything hurts.  
I feel like I'm going to throw up at any moment.  
My stomach is in knots with anxiety.  
But over all, all I want to go is huddle in a corner and cry.  
~  
I think I've been in the bathroom for at least sixteen hours. Someone's knocked a few times and twisted the handle but I haven't said anything.  
I've puked twice, and I can't stop crying.  
Everything hurts.  
I just want the pain to go away.  
Why won't the pain go away?  
~  
No one told me it was gonna hurt this bad.  
I want to die.  
~  
It's three days before I start to feel better.  
I haven't left the bathroom once.  
The constant ache of depression starts to leave my muscles, and the soreness from sleeping on the tile floor starts to set in.  
I don't want to die anymore.  
~  
On the fourth day of hiding out in a corner of the bathroom, I finally stand up and stretch. Every muscle in my body screams at me. But I don't feel sad for no reason anymore.  
I could probably smile again.  
If I wanted to.  
~  
That night, I tell the boys why I disappeared for four days, with Niall holding my hand the whole time.  
They don't say anything. They just hug me and apologize for not understanding.  
I don't blame them. I never have blamed them. They don't need to apologize.  
But at least I know they care.  
~  
The next day, the doctor tells us that Niall will probably be aloud out of the hospital sometime next week, since he is recovering at a remarkable pace.  
I smile the whole day.  
Because Niall woke up and now everything is okay.  
Just like I thought it would be.


End file.
